


You'll Not Feel

by Ort



Series: Ort's LU Shorts [1]
Category: Linked Universe - Fandom, The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Canon Temporary Character Death, He's not dead here., Implied/Referenced Character Death, Song Lyrics, but he did die, music prompt from discord, theyre great, yall should listen to the decemberists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 17:10:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18608911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ort/pseuds/Ort
Summary: A funeral song.  He doesn’t remember where he’s heard it.





	You'll Not Feel

**Author's Note:**

> Based off of Linked Universe.   
> Songs Used:
> 
> The Island: Come and See  
> The Island: You'll Not Feel the Drowning
> 
> Both by the Decemberists

_ There’s an island, hidden in the sound. _

_ Lapping currents lay your boat aground. _

  
  


He wakes on the island, with nothing but his undergarments.  

 

Even is the tide, as ever.  

 

It laps at his hands, water slipping between his fingers.  

 

The others are not here.  

  
  


There is music here, floating over the tops of trees as they sway to its rhythm; it rides on a southern breeze.  The wind picks up, buffeting his bangs, and he thinks of Wind. He’d like it here. He will show him someday. 

 

The music is a soft, subtle thing, that passes overtop him and sits idly in his ears.  

 

_ Come and see. _

_ Come and see.   _

 

He sits up, blinking the sun from his eyes, and looks towards the distant shore of the mainland.  It’s shrouded in mist. There is no raft. He doesn’t remember coming here; doesn’t remember meaning to. 

 

Not that he remembers a lot of things.  

 

He doesn’t dwell.  Twi has been helping him not to dwell on such things.  

 

So, instead, he stands and turns.  The music is still there, dipping in and out like the cranes that gather at the edge of the water to eat.  

 

_ Come and see. _

_ Come and see.   _

 

He walks, past a deserted camp fire, the rotted remains of spear lying waist, past the cold platform, its blue glow shimmering in the light of the setting sun.  Fish bones crunch beneath his bare feet, pricking at his soles, but he pays them no mind. Soon there is grass beneath his feet anyways, brittle and dry, as he enters the shade of a palm tree.

 

It is quiet here, save for the music.  No rocks sail towards with vicious intent, no monsters cackle at his despair.  The island is devoid of evil. He comes to a clearing, and finds only the soft indent where a giant once slumbered, nothing more.  

 

The music is clearer now, new words forming and twisting in the air.  

 

_ The tides all come and go, witnessed by no waking eye. _

 

He is alone here.  He places a hand on the wall of stone before him, warm.  

 

_ The willows mark the wind. _

 

He grips its surface and hauls himself upwards.  He hair comes undone, his tie blown loose by a breeze.

 

_ And all we know for sure amidst this fading light, _

 

The sun dips below the horizon, the last of its light arching out across the sky and painting it like streaks of blood.

 

_ We'll not go home again.  _

 

He wonders if they are searching for him.  

 

_ Come and see. _

 

He reaches the first ledge as the music slips away, fading with the last of the sunlight.  Disappointment rises in his chest, but a loneliness he has not felt before takes its place soon after.  He sits on the ledge, legs dangling below him. It is quiet now; even the birds by the shore are silent.  

 

Above him, the first star reveals itself.  It is dim; unimpressive. It sits low on the horizon, like a broken beacon, and he cannot help but hate it.  He places a hand at his side, but then remembers that his slate is not there. 

 

Panic threatens to overtake him and he sucks in a breath through his teeth.  In and out. Simple and slow. Just like Time taught him.

 

He wrings his hands before.  The star is still there, slipping in and out from behind a passing cloud.  He considers swimming back.

 

As he stands, the music returns.  The tune sweeps through him, clinging to the walls of the cliff.  It is different now, but he can’t quell the feeling of familiarity that spills from his chest into his stomach.  

 

_ I will dress your eyelids _

_ With dimes upon your eyes _

 

A funeral song.  He doesn’t remember where he’s heard it.

 

_ Laying close to water _

_ Green your grave will rise _

 

He closes his eyes and presses against the stone behind him.  The music softens and the wind rises once more. His hair slips over his eyes.  

 

_ Go to sleep now… _

 

He can barely hear it, so quiet has it grown.

 

_...little fool… _

 

He presses his mouth closed.

 

_ You’ll not feel the drowning…  _

 

He feels water in his mouth.  In his lungs. 

 

He gasps, pulling back as he comes to, and slams against the cliffside.  His body, previously tipping further and further over the side of the ledge, shakes and shivers.  The night air is cool against the raised bumps running along his arms and legs. He draws in another breath.  He tries to breathe out. 

 

The moon is rising, full and bright.  It casts the island an eerie white, stark against the black sea that surrounds him.  It shimmers as moonlight alights upon its surface, broken by tossing waves. He swallows a cry and turns, pressing his forehead to stone, before continuing to climb.  

 

The music grows once more.

 

_ Forget you once had sweethearts _

 

He grips stone with rough palms and blood slips past his wrist.

 

_ They've forgotten you _

 

He pulls himself up.

 

_ Think you not on parents _

 

There are more stars now, brighter.  

 

_ They've forgotten too _

 

They dance behind clouds, like muffled laughter.  He tries not to dwell.

 

When he finally reaches the top, there is nothing.  No monsters or fire. No musicians. He pulls himself over the edge and lies still, his stomach bare against the earth.  He looks upon his outstretched arm. There is moonlight over him, and his scars glow like the runes that were burned into his mind so many times.  

 

_ Go to sleep now… _

 

He closes his eyes.  

 

* * *

 

He wakes wrapped in fur and arms, pressed against another body.  

 

The arms around him tighten and there words murmured over him, passing between others.  He remains in darkness, but the warmth here is welcoming. There’s a hand running through his hair, brushing his bangs away from his face.  It comes to a rest at the crown of his head, solid, anchoring him. Another hand places a worn palm to his cheek. He leans into the touch and someone bends down.  Presses their forehead to his. The arm around his shoulders pulls him close. 

 

There are words as well, soft.

 

But he does not understand.    

  
  



End file.
